


Sweet Nothings

by Maleficar



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Dirty Talk, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-19
Updated: 2014-12-19
Packaged: 2018-03-02 06:43:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,491
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2803238
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Maleficar/pseuds/Maleficar
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Blackwall teases Evelyn with dirty talk. In public. At Halamshiral. As one does.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sweet Nothings

When they arrived at Halamshiral, Evie did her best not to appear overawed. The Winter Palace was a magnificent construction and the nobility, arrayed in their finery, were visions of silks and velvets. She could have belonged to this world, had life dealt her a slightly different hand.

Her fingers brushed the lower edge of her mask, making sure it was firmly in place.

“You look fine, love,” Blackwall murmured, bending over her shoulder. The words ghosted over her skin and made her shiver. If she had her way, they would be back at Skyhold and tangled in each other instead of the complicated Games the Orlesians played.

“I keep expecting a knife in my back,” she whispered in reply, fingers fussing with one of her epaulets.

A low rumble issued from him. “I’d rather you on your back,” he said, and she was so shocked by his unexpected words that her jaw went slack. “But then I wouldn’t get to see your fine arse in these wicked trousers.” He pulled away from her, leaving her standing next to Vivienne, flabbergasted.

“Do close your mouth, my dear,” Vivienne said. “It won’t do to look like you’re catching flies.”

Evie closed her mouth and began scouring the Court for information. As she stood beside the refreshment table, feigning indecision between a ham and a turkey, she listened to a banal conversation between two nearby nobles. She wished they’d say something interesting. Pursing her lips, she reached for the cheese platter.

“Your lips,” Blackwall breathed against her ear, suddenly behind her, the heat of his body scorching her through her clothes.

She gasped softly and turned slightly toward him. “You have to stop sneaking up on me,” she hissed, though she was genuinely impressed that a man of his size could manage to sneak at all.

His eyes sparkled behind his mask, rich with mirth. And desire. A tremor went through her at the heat in his gaze. “Purse your lips again, my lady, and I’ll be hard pressed not to push you to your knees.” He leaned over the table, selecting several cheeses and a piece of bread. He placed the food on a plate and offered it to her as he leaned forward slightly. “I want to see those lips wrapped around my cock, your pretty eyes staring up at me as I fuck your mouth.” He let the words hang between them for a moment as heat raced through her. “Inquisitor.” He passed her the plate and then stepped away.

The nobles nearby lifted their hands to their mouths and tittered, all but leering at her. Did they know? Had his words traveled? Evie pressed a hand to her throat and swallowed again, trying to compose herself. She was here to stop an assassination.

That didn’t stop Blackwall. When she passed him in the gallery, he offered her his hand. She took it, letting him draw her close. It was impossible to fight the gravity of him.

Bracing her hands on his chest, she tipped her head back, meeting his gaze in the warm, flickering torch light. “Blackwall,” she murmured.

“They stare at you,” he replied, voice soft, lilting. “Devouring you with their eyes.” His flashed, dark with desire and fierce possession. That look weakened her knees, flooded her with warmth, made wetness gather between her legs. She struggled not to melt against him, her fingers curling in the fabric stretched across his broad chest. “Later, I’m going to devour you, my lady. Pin you down, spread your legs, and feast on your cunt until you scream.”

“Blackwall!” She wasn’t sure if her tone was sufficiently indignant. It was hard to be annoyed with him when he made such sinful promises.

He flashed her a wicked smile. “That’s the only sound I want from your lips.” He drew her closer, shifting into the shadow cast by one of the massive statues. Pressing her into the corner, caging her with his body, he brushed his lips lightly over hers, and there was something wickedly illicit about him kissing her so softly, so gently, while masks hid their faces. His hands curved over her hips, cupping her ass, and he dragged her against him. “Do you feel how fucking hard I am for you?” His voice was a low growl. “Do you know how much I want to rip off those breeches? How much I want to fuck that tight quim of yours with my fingers? My tongue? I want the taste of you on my lips and beard for the rest of the night.”

She let out a quiet gasp of pleasure and shock, pushing lightly at his chest, trying to dislodge him. They were in _public_ , in the Winter Palace. At any moment, any one of the Orlesian nobles could stumble across them. It wasn’t like they were anonymous. Their uniforms gave them away.

“Are you wet, Evie?” he growled against her mouth.

She couldn’t stop herself from whispering her answer, a soft _yes_ that slid into the scant space between them like a caress.

“Can you feel it when you walk, how much your slick cunt wants to be filled by my cock?”

Choking on a moan, she gripped his tunic tighter.

One of his hands slipped between their bodies, pressing between her legs. He cupped her, rubbing against her clit with the heel of his hand, and she sagged against the wall, gasping, shuddering. Pleasure rolled through her, made sharper by the fact that a pair of nobles were walking by, whispering together. They paused, and one asked, “What was that noise?” as Evie gasped softly.

The other laughed. “You’re hearing things,” he said, and Blackwall pressed two fingers against her opening through her breeches, and it was all she could do to keep from crying out. The two nobles wandered away as Blackwall rubbed her, rocking his cock against her hip. 

“Think about it, Evie,” he said against the skin of her neck. “The tight grip of your cunt around my cock, your pretty little tits bouncing as I fuck the breath out of you.” She smothered a strangled moan, pressing one hand to her mouth. He removed it. “Let me see those cock sucking lips of yours.” He nipped her lower lip, catching it between his teeth and pulling.

Heat burned through her, a flash of desire that left her trembling. 

“You want it.” He dropped that hand to her hip, yanking her against him, trapping his hand between them as he ground against her. She gasped, blind to everything except pleasure but trying to cling to the knowledge she had an assassination to stop. “Like a whore, you want me to fuck you. Come in you so much it drips down your thighs.” His laughter against her skin was dark. “How wet are you for me, Evie?”

She struggled to find words through the haze of lust. “Soaking,” she finally gasped out, twisting against his hold, trying to get his hand where she needed it.

“If I tore open your breeches, how ready would you be for me?”

Holding back a sob of need and pleasure, she bit her lip. “You could just take me,” she whispered, almost embarrassed. She was so wet, he wouldn’t need to play with her any more, wouldn’t need to prepare her to take his cock. 

And then he stepped back, leaving her bereft of his heat. She stared at him as he tugged her out of the shadows, steadying her with a hand on her shoulder. “You look flushed, my lady.”

She blinked at him.

“Almost as red as that uniform.” He leaned closer, lowering his voice. “We both know that blush ends at the tips of your pretty nipples. What if I were to suck them? Right here?”

Her mouth worked but no sound came out.

Then he leaned away, glancing around as if completely bored with the whole of Orlais, and he sighed. “Never did like politics much,” he said, and the abrupt change from scorching hot, filthy talk to such a banal observation stunned her.

“W-would you…” She struggled for words, and he glanced at her with interest in his eyes.

“Take you now? Fuck you in the shadows like you’re a whore to be used? Leave my seed staining your soft thighs? Fuck you so hard you—”

“A dance,” she said, interrupting him because she knew, absolutely knew, that if she let him finish they _would_ end up in the shadows, and he’d be inside her, and the Empress would die and Corypheus would win. All because she had no self-control. “Save me a dance?”

“All of them,” he assured her, and then he turned away, crossing his arms, studying a nearby statue.

She stood there for a minute, floundering, and realized she was going to have to continue with the party, aching and frustrated, every step a slick and sliding reminder of his words.


End file.
